


just texting to say i love you

by sherlockislovely



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Romance, Semi-explicit sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 07:43:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13026414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockislovely/pseuds/sherlockislovely
Summary: There are times, places, and reasons for the words to be said.Or: The many times that John and Sherlock say 'I love you'





	just texting to say i love you

They don't touch when the words are first said. They don't kiss, or brush hands, or even go within five feet of the other.

John stands on one side of the kitchen table, holding a mug of tea mid-passage to his lips. Sherlock blinks at him, eyes wide, both hands still and unmoving at his sides. He looks like he can't believe the words that have escaped his mouth, flabbergasted, really. At the same time, however, he seems fractionally relieved, like a weight had been released from his shoulders.

They're staring at each other for what seems like an age.

"What?" John finally says, cutting through the silence. His voice is cracked as if he hasn't spoken in years.

"I said I love you," Sherlock replies, looking frustrated at John's shell-shocked confusion. John opens his mouth again, but nothing comes out. His silent response is interrupted by the chime of Sherlock's phone, breaking the glass-like bubble around them. It shatters, and John is pulled out of his daze into reality. He thinks he might be seeing pieces of glass falling down around them, but that doesn’t seem likely. He puts his mug back on the table as Sherlock taps his fingers wildly over the touchpad.

"It's Lestrade. We have a case," Sherlock says, pulling his coat around his shoulders before John can even move from his position in the kitchen.

"What? That's it?" John's voice echoes after Sherlock as the detective disappears down the stairs. He sighs, shaking his head, and chases after the man.

 

*

 

A few days after Sherlock's proclamation of love, John is staring at the detective as he falls onto the sofa in a post-case sulk. He's watching Sherlock's fingers twitch as his forearm covers his eyes, the white knuckles shifting minutely.

"Sherlock?" The man in question doesn't move, but emits a small grunt. John would usually roll his eyes, but he’s too focused on other things to be bothered by Sherlock’s antics, "Sherlock, I-"

John clears his throat, the hesitancy obvious. Sherlock, apparently, finds this slightly worth the effort of opening his eyes and shifting his glance to the doctor. He searches John's face, his eyes lighting up with intrigue at his sheepish, anxious expression.

"Yes, John?"

"I, well," John pauses as he looks at Sherlock's raised eyebrow and messy hair, "I love you, too."

"Ah," Sherlock says, removing his gaze once again, "Obvious."

John bristles, but can't find anything else to say. He looks down at his hand on the arm of his chair, the tapping of his fingertips muted against the fabric. He looks up again.

"Do you not think it strange that we've announced our love for each other, but haven’t kissed or anything?" His voice catches slightly around _our love_ , but Sherlock just looks at him dead-on with a plain expression.

"Would you like to? Kiss, that is." Sherlock doesn’t seem at all phased by the conversation, which only irks John.

"Well. Eventually... Seems the thing to do, doesn’t it?"

"I wouldn’t know." Sherlock finally sits up on the sofa, tilting his head as he positions himself upright. John stares at him until his eyes are too piercing, too intense, and he looks away to the window.

"Okay, well let me know," John says, crossing his leg and pulling the newspaper out in front of him.

He can feel Sherlock's eyes on him. The heat of his gaze raises the hair on his neck. He vaguely notices the detective moving toward him in his periphery, and eventually, his body blocks the light from the window and casts a shadow over the newspaper.

"John," Sherlock says, peering over his him. John's heart is beating quickly in his chest and he holds back a smile.

"Yes, Sherlock?" He tries to keep his voice steady and clear.

"I think we should kiss now."

"Oh, _god_ , yes," John lets the grey sheets of paper fall to the ground and stands up, bumping Sherlock slightly with his chest. He doesn’t care though, because instantly his lips are pressed against Sherlock's and he can feel a hand being placed tentatively on his neck.

His lips brush lightly against the detectives, soft for a moment and then suddenly desperate, his hands finding the sides of Sherlock's head. His fingers push into dark curls and a sigh is released between them, and he's not sure which one of them it came from.

After a few seconds, Sherlock pulls away, his eyes opening slowly. John can see his own eyes reflected in deep blue.

"Good?" Sherlock whispers in a low baritone. John nods, a smile pulling at his swollen and reddened lips.

"Very good."

 

*

 

They fall into a regular routine of ‘I love you’s and neither of them can be bothered to realize how swiftly and strangely their relationship has shifted.

Much to John's surprise, Sherlock is very verbal with his affections, and repeats them any time the words cross his mind. Which is quite often.

_"Good morning, I love you."_

_"Going to the morgue, I love you."_

_"Make some tea? I love you."_

Sherlock says it like the words are of the utmost importance, like every time were the first time, and for a while, John is thrown. Is this his life, now? Will he never escape from the endless barrage of ‘I love you’s? Does he want to?

 _Not really_ , he decides.

"Sherlock, do you think it'll lose its novelty if you keep saying it so much?" John asks, knowing Sherlock will understand him, even though the conversation is quite unprompted. Sherlock looks up from his microscope and frowns.

"I certainly hope not," is all his says, making a strange face before turning back to his slides. John notices a peek of a smile on Sherlock's face and decides it doesn’t really matter as long as the words are true.

 

*

 

The first time they have sex, it’s slightly awkward, John being somewhat nervous and new to the whole 'being with a man' thing, and Sherlock just somewhat lanky and awkward in general. It's no less amazing, though, as they get the hang of it and find the right rhythm.

"Oh, _John_ , yes-" Sherlock's voice is somehow quiet and loud at the same time, quick breaths blowing into John's ear. His fingertips press crescents into John's shoulder and in return John resists the compulsion to bite into Sherlock's neck.

" _Fuck_ , Sherlock..." His body tenses and a wave of pleasure courses through him, "I'm- oh- _God_ , you're beautiful."

Sherlock's arms are pulled around him, pressing him hard and close, like they’re not close enough, even though there's not a millimeter of space between them. John thinks Sherlock would curl up inside him, wrap up in his body and stay there forever if he could. He wouldn't stop him.

John comes first, Sherlock soon after, their bodies riding the high and soon relaxing as dopamine floods their brains. John sighs and rolls halfway off Sherlock, keeping his chest pressed against Sherlock's side, an arm around his stomach.

"That was... Wow."

"Very well-articulated," Sherlock replies, raising an arm over his head, the other settling around John's shoulder, "But I concur."

John pushes his face into the crook of Sherlock's neck, and he feels the small pressure of a kiss pressed into his hair. His eyes are fluttering closed, his mind and body fuzzy. He places a lazy kiss on Sherlock's neck.

"I love you."

"Likewise."

 

*

 

They don't necessarily try to keep their relationship secret, but it’s also nice to not have the public eye pressed up against a new relationship, so virtually no one knows. John thinks of mentioning it on his blog, his fingers typing the words, only to hold his middle finger over the backspace, leaving the document blank once again.

Sherlock, for his part, either realizes John's hesitancy to make their relationship public, or just isn’t prone to public displays of affection. They've had six cases with Scotland Yard since their relationship made the transfer from friends to more-than-friends, and they were yet to make any indication that they were together. No hand-holding, kissing, or ‘I-love-you's in sight.

That is, until Sherlock becomes over-excited, pacing around the decapitated body of a figure-skater, spouting theories to no one in particular. John is trying to take notes, but for the most part, Sherlock seems to be thinking out loud, which is generally the hardest of Sherlock's ramblings to follow. Suddenly, Sherlock turns to John.

"Anything to add, love?"

John shakes his head once and blinks. He sends a cursory glance to Lestrade, not surprised by the shocked expression there, but is determined to not get flustered, “Uhm… Skating blades? I’ve seen enough sliced up fingers to know they can do quite a bit of damage." John replies, not expecting this to be any sort of revelation. Sherlock, however, waits patiently for him to continue, "Someone would have to be of a specific height and build to make a substantial cut like this."

"Marvelous, John!" Sherlock waits a moment to see the smile emerge on John's face, and then turns to Lestrade, "Your suspect is her skating partner. He is the right height and muscle mass to have cut through her throat at the correct angle."

Lestrade barks orders at a few subordinates before turning back to the pair. He pauses, mouth open slightly as he watches Sherlock unconsciously put his hand on the small of John’s back.

Lestrade coughs lightly and shuffles his feet, "So, this is happening, now, is it?" He looks slightly uncomfortable, but mostly amused and relieved. Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"If by 'this' you mean John and I sleeping together, then yes," He replies bluntly. John feels a blush creep through his cheeks and his ears burn red as he sighs.

"Jesus, Sherlock," he says. Lestrade only releases an awkward laugh and extracts himself from the conversation as soon as possible.

Sherlock feels John's hand slip into his and a sudden calm washes over him. His eyes turn to the shorter man and he can’t think anything except _I love you I love you I love you._

He’s been staring awhile when John just smiles and shakes his head.

“You okay?” he asks, snapping Sherlock away from the constant stream of _those words_ running through his mind. He flashes a smile and nods.

“Never better.”

 

*

 

They've had fights before. Hell, most of their flat-share, friendship, and relationship is composed of bickering and pointed comments. Somehow, and not surprisingly, this is different.

Sherlock swallows hard, chewing worriedly at his bottom lip and John grinds his teeth, digging holes into the wall with his mind.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock whispers, placing a hand on John's knee, which only causes the doctor to glance down and stare at the hand before Sherlock removes it. It's a rarity, for sure, for Sherlock to give an apology, but it's warranted. John holds the phone up to his chin and tries to hold back his stinging tears.

"Of all the selfish things..." John takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to steady himself.

"I wasn't trying to be selfish. I forgot, I-I got distracted by a case-"

"That's not an excuse!" John can't hold back his voice, the anger and frustration evident. Sherlock flinches slightly, but doesn’t back away. John releases a shaky breath, "He was part of my regiment, and I missed his funeral because you forgot to relay one message. It would’ve taken two seconds, Sherlock. _Hey, John, by the way, someone called while you were in the shower. Your friend died. Funeral's on Wednesday_."

"John, I-" Sherlock doesn't know what to say, finding himself in the unfamiliar territory of feeling genuinely remorseful. John shakes his head, pulling himself up from his chair. Sherlock watches as he pulls on his coat, "Where are you going?"

"I just, I need some air, Sherlock."

"John," Sherlock waits for John to meet his eyes again, "I love you."

John stares at him and then looks down, clenching his fist at his side. He's practically shaking as Sherlock takes a step closer.

"John. Say it back," Sherlock reaches out and touches John's shoulder, feeling him freeze at his touch, "Please, just say you love me." His eyes beg, and John can't quite meet them. Silently, he turns and exits the flat, pulling the door closed behind him hard enough to echo throughout the flat and shake the pictures on the wall.

Sherlock paces for a while, raking fingers roughly through his hair. He finds himself climbing up the stairs to John's room. The door is closed, has been for a few months. It’s been unoccupied pretty much when they started sleeping together. Sherlock pushes open the door and looks around at the empty closet, the stale sheets gathering dust on the bed.

He pulls the sheets off, throwing them into the empty hamper and pulling clean ones from the bottom drawer of the dresser. He tucks the fitted sheet around the edges of the bed, shakes out the duvet and lays it on top, and throws the pillows in the closet near the headboard. He stares at the bed for a few minutes and then goes back down to the kitchen.

Sherlock finds himself sitting against the wall for hours, beating his head against the sheetrock in between glances at his phone. He receives one text from Lestrade about a new case, but he doesn't even pretend to bother.

He hears the door downstairs open and close, leaden steps making slowly up the flight. He doesn't move, just waits until John steps through the door, hanging up his coat before noticing Sherlock on the floor of the kitchen. Without a word, he sits down beside him, their thighs almost touching, but not quite.

They sit in silence, the stale smell of beer and smoke drifting from John.

"It's not a fix-all," John says eventually, staring forward in the direction of the sink. Sherlock turns to him, but John doesn’t let him speak just yet, "You can’t just say I love you and expect everything to be fine."

"Okay. I'll… stop saying it," Sherlock says, and John finally looks at him again.

"No, Sherlock," He leans his shoulder against the wall, leaning his head sideways, "Of course I want you to say it. You just- you can’t manipulate me with it."

"I wasn't trying to-"

"I know. I know." John placed a hand in Sherlock's curls, pulling his head closer and pulling Sherlock’s head to rest underneath his chin. Sherlock releases a breath and closes his eyes. They stay for a while, feeling each other’s heartbeats.

"I made your bed," Sherlock says, and John's hand tightens minutely on his neck.

"You- what? Why?" John leans back and his eyes meet Sherlock’s, brows creased. He tilts his head, then straightens it again as realization dawns on his features. He shuffles around as he stands up from the floor, standing fully and reaching his hand out to Sherlock, "I will never be mad enough at you to not want to sleep next to you.”

Sherlock looks up at him in what could be interpreted as shock. John presses his hand further toward the detective. Sherlock takes it, pulling himself up. John is engulfed in thin, long arms before he can process what's happening. Sherlock's breath is hot on his neck and the hug is somewhat stiff.

"I'm sorry. For your friend." Sherlock says, and it’s practically groundbreaking. As much as he had already tried to apologize for excluding the fact, John hadn’t even hoped to get this apology. It's small and maybe the bar is set pretty low, but John appreciates the sentiment.

"I do love you," John says, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist, "I didn’t mean to imply otherwise."

"I can’t function when you're gone. My heart feels like it could burst. It's hateful."

John presses a kiss underneath Sherlock's ear and hums, "No, quite the opposite."

 

*

 

Sherlock knows it’s late. The sky is dark, lightened slightly from the purple/pink hue of light pollution. London is quiet, or generally so. It’s never completely quiet in the city. He looks out the window, only having to turn his head slightly from its position on the arm of the couch.

Sherlock knows it’s late. He doesn’t really care.

He flips his phone once in his hand and opens a new message.

**_You awake? -SH  
Sent 2:31 a.m._ **

He bites his lip and lays the phone face up on his chest. A reply isn’t expected. John’s visiting Harry at her new place in Reading, and the doctor usually keeps a rather strict sleeping schedule - when Sherlock’s not interrupting it. He closes his eyes and has drifted into a half sleep when the phone lights up, soft light filtering through his eyelids. He blinks and refocuses his eyes while squinting at the phone.

**_Unfortunately -J  
Received 2:49 a.m._ **

**_You okay? -J  
Received 2:49 a.m._ **

**_Can’t sleep. -SH  
Sent 2:50 a.m._ **

**_Me neither -J  
Received 2:51 a.m._ **

Sherlock looks at the phone and frowns. He types a response, the phone making a swooping sound when the message is sent.

**_Nightmares? -SH  
Sent 2:54 a.m._ **

**_No -J  
Received 2:56 a.m._ **

**_The bed feels too empty -J  
Received 2:56 a.m._ **

A smile spreads across Sherlock’s face that he would be horrified to let anyone else see.

**_I miss you, too. -SH  
Sent 2:57 a.m._ **

**_How’s Harry? -SH  
Sent 2:59 a.m._ **

**_Good I think… sober at least -J  
Received 3:01 a.m._ **

**_That’s good. -SH  
Sent 3:02 a.m._ **

He doesn’t get a reply for a while and assumes that John has fallen asleep. He receives a new message as he’s pulling his (well, John’s) laptop off the desk.

**_You don’t usually text me for no reason -J  
Received 3:11 a.m._ **

**_Sure you’re okay? The flat still intact? -J  
Received 3:12 a.m._ **

**_I’m sure. -SH  
Sent 3:14 a.m._ **

**_Just texting to say I love you. -SH  
Sent 3:15 a.m._ **

**_That sounded vaguely like a pop culture reference. Been bored, have you? -J  
Received 3:18 a.m._ **

**_I love you too -J  
Received 3:19 a.m._ **

**_Any use of a popular culture reference was entirely coincidental. -SH  
Sent 3:21 a.m._ **

**_And I’m always bored when you’re gone. -SH  
Sent 3:22 a.m._ **

**_Everything is utterly dull when you’re not here. -SH  
Sent 3:23 a.m._ **

**_Is that sentiment I’m hearing? -J  
Received 3:25 a.m._ **

**_I just told you I love you, idiot. -SH  
Sent 3:25 a.m._ **

**_Obviously, I’m giving in to sentiment at the moment. Don’t go telling people. -SH  
Sent 3:27 a.m._ **

**_Oh I’m saving it for blackmail one day -J  
Received 3:28 a.m._ **

**_I don’t doubt it. -SH  
Sent 3:30 a.m._ **

**_It’s pretty late. You should try to sleep. -SH  
Sent 3:32 a.m._ **

**_I’d tell you the same but I know you won’t listen -J  
Received 3:33 a.m._ **

**_Goodnight love -J  
Received 3:33 a.m._ **

**_Goodnight, John. -SH  
Sent 3:35 a.m._ **

 

*

 

John nearly hits glass head-on when the sliding door doesn’t open fast enough. He pauses in a jerky motion before sweeping through the entrance as soon as he can squeeze through. Glancing around, he finds Lestrade in a sea of officers and reporters.

“Where is he?” John nearly has to yell above the commotion, though he might’ve yelled anyway. Lestrade looks at him over a cup of cheap coffee and just motions his head to his left. He doesn’t bother saying anything, knowing John will only find his target and run off, ignoring anything he has to say.

John weaves through the crowd of people, most of them hovering around the room he’s attempting to reach. A short blonde with an obscenely tight skirt pushes up in front of him and sticks her hand out in front of him.

“Doctor Watson! What is Mr. Holmes’ condition? Is he going to make a recovery?” She prompts, eyes wide and mouth open in an innocent pucker. John waves her off. Unfortunately, she has caught the attention of several more reporters and suddenly he has multiple microphones shoved in his face. There’s too many of them, too many questions being thrown at him, and he’s finding it hard to breathe.

“I don’t know anything, at the moment. If I could just get through-“ John puts an arm in between two of the reporters and shoves through the barrier, reaching the door in a few steps. In a swift motion, he slips through the doorway, pushing it closed behind him, and leans his back against it with a sigh. The handle digs into his back, but he’s not paying attention to it.

Sherlock is looking at him with that _look,_ the one that says, _this wasn’t my fault and also I’m injured so be nice to me._ John lowers his shoulders, the tension easing out. Sherlock being awake – and aware – is good. Very good.

“It’s just bruises. Well- and a few broken bones. I’m fine, really.”

“What happened?” John says as he reaches the side of the bed, placing both his hands over Sherlock’s right. Sherlock makes a sort of grimace-like face and shrugs.

“I fell down some stairs,” he says plainly.

John shuffles and clears his throat, “You- you _fell-_ ,” he tilts his head and studies Sherlock’s face, black eye and bruised chin prominent against the milky skin, “What aren’t you telling me?”

Sherlock looks like he’s thinking hard, obviously caught off guard by the particular question. It wasn’t _Are you lying to me?_ or _What really happened?_ It was _What aren’t you telling me?_ And that, right there, was how John wins pretty much every time. He’s learned to get around Sherlock’s tendency to commit lies of omission. After a few seconds, his head falls back slightly on the pillow that is supporting his neck.

“It’s possible it was more of a… push down the stairs.”

The longer John stares at him, the more set his expression becomes in his steely composure. His hands tighten around Sherlock’s and the detective watches his jaw clench, teeth grinding slowly.

“Who? That car thief? Sloan?” John doesn’t wait for an answer before pushing away from the bed and pacing slightly, breathing deliberately even. After a moment of trying to gain his composure (unsuccessfully), he turns back to Sherlock, “I’ll kill him. That’s what I’ll do-“

“Sloan is in custody, and I’m fine. See?” Sherlock sits up and spreads out his arms to show his point. John closes his eyes and breathes out heavily through his nose before stepping back to the bed and leaning down to Sherlock until their foreheads are touching. Sherlock blinks slowly and gives a smug grin, “Good day at the surgery?”

“You’re insufferable,” John’s words are affectionate, and the hand placed softly on Sherlock’s neck matches the tone.

“But you love me anyway,” Sherlock says, scanning over John’s closed eyelids. The doctor releases a soft laugh and Sherlock’s stomach flutters at the sound.

“God help me, I do.”

 

*

 

"John. _John_."

Sherlock's peering at him, eyes mere centimeters from his as John wakes. John smiles sleepily and pulls Sherlock down to meet his lips. Sherlock kisses back with equal enthusiasm but pulls back much too soon. John groans as the detective recedes, his warmth leaving his side.

"We have a case."

It's a normal occurrence, and John's not even surprised when he looks at the clock and it's barely 5:30. That doesn’t make the early hour any easier to face, however.

"Sherlock, it's too early."

"It's a _nine_ , John."

John groans and rolls away, shoving his face deep into a pillow. He's delighted to note that Sherlock crawls back on the bed, placing his hands on either side of John's body and resting his chin on his shoulder.

"I'll make tea," He can practically feel John rolling his eyes, though he can't see it.

"That'll be the day," John replies, voice muffled by padded cotton and satin fabric. Sherlock leans forward, pressing three quick kisses from John's neck to the tip of his shoulder.

"I can think of other ways to wake you up," Sherlock says, his voice low and gravelly. John peeks one eye open and Sherlock knows he's caught his attention. He smirks deviously as he rolls his pelvis against John's side, pressing himself into his hip.

" _Christ_ , okay. I'm awake," John turns his body enough for Sherlock to lift one leg over his form, straddling his waist. Sherlock leans down and presses their lips together. He grinds down in a slow movement, eliciting a moan from John that catches in Sherlock's mouth.

"Mm. I love you," Sherlock says against the doctor's lips. John smiles and opens his eyes to look up at him.

He lifts a hand to Sherlock's temple and swipes away a loose curl, "Obvious."


End file.
